


A Study in Topping

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: A Study in Pants [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dirty Talk, Lace Panties, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has been dragged to club after club trying to catch a serial robber and he's just about lost his patience watching Sherlock flirt with other men.</p>
<p>In other words, John feels a bit possessive and Sherlock's the one wearing the lacy pants this time.</p>
<p>This is the third work in my series A Study in Pants but can absolutely be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Topping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsindigita1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsindigita1/gifts).



> This installment is written for dreamsindigita1 who emailed me to request "something with John topping the hell out of Sherlock" with dirty talk and panties. (She has been a positive delight to write for and has beared with me as I've asked her for input and wrote this little fic. in her honor.) Thank you for the inspiration; I hope that it is everything you were hoping for, darling!
> 
> And I hope everyone else enjoys it as well. :)

There has been no shortage of indignities that John Watson has suffered in the name of “The Work.”  He has lost sleep, missed meals, been deprived of reading time, cancelled vacations, destroyed relationships, and currently he was giving up sex.  Sex while he and Sherlock were on cases was sporadic at best and often depended upon how long the cases went on.  Since he and Sherlock had started sleeping together there had been a handful of times when the case ran for more than a four or five days.  And inevitably when this happened Sherlock would come into the bedroom where John had all but passed out and demand to be fucked.  Of course John would oblige and often Sherlock’s epiphanies (pardon the pun) came when he did.

All this to say there had been no sex for the past  _ five days _ they’d been on this case as they tried to track down a man who was robbing various night clubs.  It had been exhausting, to be honest.  They’d been out and about every day interviewing club owners who had been robbed, looking into banks, and doing all manner of things before night came.  Then Sherlock would deduce the most likely place to be robbed based on heaven only knows what and they would go out to the club with the highest probability of being robbed.

It shouldn’t have been hard, really, going without sex for five days.  It wasn’t the amount of time without sex as much as it was the circumstances John found himself forced to endure.  When John went to whichever establishment was deemed the most likely to be robbed, he dressed in a pair of nice denims and a black button down shirt, put a bit of product in his hair, and that was that.  He then spent the night sitting at the bar and helping watch for suspicious activity, nothing overly sexual about any of those things, nothing to really get him going.  

But Sherlock, good lord,  _ Sherlock _ dressed in the most ludicrous outfits when he went to clubs and he always looked positively stunning.  To be fair, he fit in perfectly with the swarms of twenty year olds there who were looking to get drunk and get laid.  Tonight he wore tight black denims that left nothing to the imagination and a sheer, tight fitting white v-neck t-shirt that plunged half way down his abdomen revealing more of his stunning body to strangers than John really cared for.  And to finish off the look, Sherlock had put on dark eyeliner that made his eyes look breathtaking and styled his hair in such a way that he looked like he’d just had a fantastic shag.  John was a goner before the night even began.

And as if this wasn’t enough, you should see the way Sherlock danced.  He was positively sinful, his hips gyrating to the music, arms thrown above his head in reckless abandon.  Sherlock looked less like a 32-year-old Consulting Detective and more like a 22-year-old having the time of his life during his last year in Uni and John could hardly stand sitting on the barstool so stupidly far away from him.  He had literally spent the past four nights fighting down an erection and mostly failing.  Tonight was no exception.

To make matters worse, John had lost count of the number of times his frankly gorgeous partner had been hit on, how many random strangers had come up and simply grabbed his arse, and how many blokes had the audacity to walk up and try to snog him.  It was disgusting, really, and made John furious as he watched.  Sherlock was  _ his _ and maybe he didn’t look like he belonged to anyone right now, but both Sherlock and John knew the truth.  Both of them knew that mind, body, and soul he belonged to John; just as John belonged to him.

John cracked his knuckles on the bar as he watched a man stalk over to Sherlock eyeing him up like he was a piece of meat, literally licking his lips as though he were ready to devour him.  John had to bite back a growl as he felt his metaphorical hackles rise.  The man had dark hair and tan skin, he had to be at least Sherlock’s height, and had a good three stones on him.  John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching as Sherlock looked the man up and down with half-mast eyelids, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips.  He watched as Sherlock licked his lips and ran his hands up his own abdomen to tweak his nipples before sliding his hands back down to his hips. 

Just like anyone with a pulse would, the mystery man seemed to take this as an invitation to come over.  Sherlock had done this sort of thing dozens of times in the past few days.  He would invite some random bloke over to dance with him, talk to him for a few minutes and then send him packing; usually after he’d been groped several times.  It seemed this bloke was no exception, he sidled up to Sherlock and immediately started grinding his dick against Sherlock’s arse pressing his nose to his neck. 

John saw Sherlock roll his eyes and watched his lips moving without any real idea what he was saying.  The two carried on talking for a few minutes before suddenly, all of the sex appeal Sherlock had been exuding was gone and nothing was left but the crime-fighting genius John knew and loved (who was still, in John’s opinion, sexy as hell).  He could see it in an instant in the way Sherlock’s entire posture changed, the way his body straightened back into his impeccable posture rather than the sexy slump he’d been in as he danced.  John could see it in the way his eyes focused completely on the man in front of him, reading him dispassionately like an open book.  He could see it in the way Sherlock’s lips flew over words in a rapid fire deduction.  The thrill of victory was plain as day and John's heart did a happy dance inside his chest at the thought that this was over, they could finally go home, and he could finally have sex.

“About damn time.” John said, pounding back the rest of his pint before tossing the bartender a tip.  When he turned back the suspect was pushing through the throngs of people and heading toward the back door, Sherlock hot on his heels.  John was closer to the front door, so he darted out that way and ran around into the alley behind the club.  When the door flew open John was ready and caught the suspect, spinning him none too gently until his chest hit the wall before pulling his hands behind his back and pressing his cheek against the bricks.

Sherlock emerged a moment later, panting slightly, “Ah.  Good.  Thank you, John.” he said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and clasping them around the criminal’s wrists.  

The man tried to talk, but John just gave him another shove into the wall, “Look, mate, probably best if you don’t speak.  You can tell the police your story when they get here.”

Sherlock glanced up at John and gave him a quick grin, “I sent a text off to Lestrade, he should be here in less than a minute.”

“Good.” John grunted.  When Lestrade arrived a moment later, John was honestly disappointed their thief hadn’t tried to run or tried to fight his way out of their hold.  John could have used a chance to blow off some steam on this arse hole.

John stood to the side with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for Sherlock to explain everything to Lestrade.  When he was done Lestrade asked if they could come in for questioning and to fill in some reports.  

John stepped up, his arms at his sides, hands clenched in fists, and his back rigid.  “Absolutely not, Lestrade.” John growled.  “We can come in tomorrow but it’s late and we haven’t been home to sleep before 4am for the past 4 days.  We’re going home and we’re going now.”

Lestrade looked a bit startled by John’s bluntness but John couldn’t be arsed to care, he was tired and horny.  He looked over at Sherlock, who was staring at him with undisguised lust in his eyes.  John had forgotten how much it turned him on when he sounded like the Army Captain he’d once been.

“Now, Sherlock.” John barked.  Sherlock set off toward the main road immediately with a nod at Lestrade.  

“Right,” Lestrade said as they started to walk back toward Baker Street, “See you tomorrow.”

John waved a hand in Lestrade’s direction but really couldn’t have cared less about the words coming out of his mouth.  Sherlock flagged down a cab when they got back to the main road and they climbed in.  “221 Baker Street.” Sherlock said, his voice deep and rumbling and ridiculously sexy.

The cabbie eyed Sherlock up in the mirror and something in John (which had been at the breaking point for days, to be honest) snapped, he slid across the seat and turned Sherlock’s face toward him and positively attacked his mouth.  John nipped at Sherlock’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.  Sherlock let out a high-pitched whine and the cabbie said, “Oy!  If you two make a mess in my backseat I’m charging you to have it cleaned.”

John didn’t respond, his fingers came up to tangle in Sherlock’s mussed curls and he gave them a tug to pull Sherlock’s head back and expose the miles of pale, gorgeous skin on his neck.  John wasted no time in bending and laving at Sherlock’s pulse point before nibbling at it lightly and then sucking hard.  Sherlock groaned and tilted his head to the side further encouraging John.  “Fuck.” he moaned.

John and Sherlock didn’t mark each other often, they both had to look professional with John still at the surgery and with Sherlock meeting clients, but John simply couldn’t resist tonight.  After watching people crawling all over Sherlock for the past few days he just wanted to cover him in his marks and his scent.  It was very primal, and later John would feel a bit like a caveman, but at the moment it was the only thought present in his mind.

The cabbie cleared his throat and John whipped his head around, ready to growl at the man when he realized they weren’t moving.

“We’re here, gents.” he told them.

“Right.” John muttered, pulling out his wallet and shoving a handful of bills at the man.  “Ta.” he said as he pushed Sherlock out the door.

“‘Night.” the cabbie said and drove off.

Sherlock had gone up the steps ahead of John but it seemed his hands were shaking too hard to actually get the key into the lock.  John pinned him against the door, nudging Sherlock’s leg with his foot to get him to spread them before pinning his hands to the door above his head.  Sherlock whimpered as John ground his cock slowly against Sherlock’s luscious arse.  Fuck, he loved Sherlock’s arse.  He groaned and leaned in to suck a bruise on the back of Sherlock’s neck while running his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, then his abdomen, and coming to rest on the tight nubs of Sherlock’s nipples.  John rolled them between his fingers and Sherlock whined as his head fell back on John’s shoulder, he ground his arse back against John to a beat only he could hear in a crude imitation of what John had been forced to endure watching at the clubs.  

John scraped his teeth over the back of Sherlock’s neck and plucked the keys from his hand to unlock the door.  “Upstairs.” John growled in Sherlock’s ear, nipping at the lobe before running his tongue around the shell of his ear.  

Sherlock shuddered and moved through the door, practically stumbling up the stairs in haste to please John.  John watched Sherlock’s arse as it moved toward the flat, really he had a positively stunning arse and the skinny jeans, more like a second skin than trousers, only emphasized that.  “You have a fantastic arse.” John said, because he was a bit drunk and because it was the truth.

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder and he batted his eyes coyly at John before opening the door into their flat and strutting inside.  John followed, watching curiously as Sherlock moved toward the desk and opened John’s laptop.  He bent at the waist and stuck his arse out in John’s direction, wiggling it slightly in invitation.  

John came over and rubbed his hands over the globes of Sherlock’s arse and Sherlock pressed back into John’s palms before music started coming out of the speakers and Sherlock straightened back up.  

He turned around and wrapped his arms around John’s neck and kissed him, swaying his hips back and forth and rubbing his erection against John’s for a moment.  John quickly took leadership of the kiss and thrust his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth before nipping at his bottom lip.  John’s hands slid down Sherlock’s shoulders and back before coming to rest on his arse and pulling him in closer.  Sherlock gasped and practically writhed against John, his fingers coming up to twine in John’s hair as he bared his neck to John’s mouth once more.  

John leaned forward and nipped at Sherlock’s neck before spinning Sherlock around to grind against that lovely bit of flesh.  “John.” Sherlock moaned out, “Fuck.” His body moved sinuously against John’s and John ran his hands up Sherlock’s body, pulling him closer, needing to feel Sherlock against him.  He slid his hands under Sherlock’s shirt and rubbed his stomach and chest, teasingly avoiding his highly sensitive nipples.  Sherlock whined as John circled his fingers just outside his aureole.

He pulled Sherlock’s shirt up over his head and rubbed his hands up and down Sherlock’s abdomen, feeling the raw power and strength that resided in this perfect man’s body.  Groaning, Sherlock tilted his head back on John’s shoulder and reached back to run his fingers through John’s hair and press John’s mouth to his neck once more.  John sucked another bruise into Sherlock’s skin at the juncture where his shoulder met his neck as his hands slid down Sherlock’s body to his button and zip.

Sherlock lost his rhythm as John brushed his hands teasingly along his erection.  “John.” he moaned, “Please.”  

John slid the zipper down slowly before working Sherlock’s denims down over his hips.  He was surprised to feel fabric still covering his hips, more often than not Sherlock didn’t bother with pants, saying they ruined the line of his trousers.  John ran his fingers over the fabric, it was smooth and cool under his fingertips and it felt like lace.  John felt a thrill in his stomach.  “What have we here?” he asked as he stepped back from Sherlock to see that Sherlock was wearing a tiny pair of pale pink, lace panties with twin bows on the hip.  They made his arse look completely stunning, showing off the pale creamy skin of his buttocks through the sheer fabric.  “Take your trousers off.” the unspoken command to put on a bit of a show heard loud and clear by both parties.

Sherlock slid his denims down his thighs, keeping his arse in John’s direction, wiggling his hips slightly as he worked down the incredibly tight material.  Then he bent at the waist, thrusting his arse out wantonly as he slid the pants down his legs practically folding himself in half.  When the trousers were off and he was in only the panties, he stood back up and waited for John’s next order.

“Turn around.” John murmured, his voice soft but the tone of command unmistakable.  Sherlock did as he was bid and turned to face John, a flush had spread across his alabaster skin complementing the panties quite nicely.  They were slung low across his hips, exposing his sharp hipbones, the trail of dark hair leading into them a shocking contrast.  John followed that trail with his eyes to find the fabric bulging obscenely around Sherlock’s prick.

“Hmmm.” John growled low in his throat, stepping up to Sherlock and trailing his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s cock through the lace, revelling in the way Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat.  “This looks rather painful.”  He slid his fingers under the waistband of the panties and ran his fingers teasingly along Sherlock’s shaft before massaging the skin usually covered in Sherlock’s dark pubic hair.  “You’ve shaved.”

“I waxed.” Sherlock gasped, his hips bucking against John in a futile attempt at friction.  “I wanted to know what the lace felt like on bare skin.” he said breathily.

“You’re such a good boy.” John said, rubbing his fingers across Sherlock’s newly uncovered skin, still leaving his panties in place. 

John removed his fingers and Sherlock whined; John hushed him and looked around for a moment before deciding the desk was the best place to give sex a go.  He set the computer, still playing music, on the chair and brushed the piles of papers and books onto the floor. “Bend over the table, Sherlock.” John said and Sherlock obeyed without a second thought, leaving his arse on display for him.  

“Fuck, Sherlock.” John groaned as he reached forward once more to massage Sherlock’s buttocks.  He rubbed his fingers over the impossibly smooth skin of the globes of his flesh that stuck out temptingly below the panties before trailing his fingers up to rub just under the hem once more.  “Look at you in these panties.  Your arse looks positively stunning in them.”  John ran his fingers along the seam of the panties which happened to also be the seam of Sherlock’s buttocks and Sherlock groaned and thrust his hips back wantonly.  “What do you want?” John asked, pressing in a little more firmly so the fabric of Sherlock’s pants pressed in between his buttocks and rubbed his hole.  Sherlock groaned and spread his legs further to give John better access.  “Do you want me to touch you, Sherlock?  Would you like me to fuck you with my fingers and then with my cock?”

Sherlock nodded desperately against the desk.  John withdrew his fingers and smacked Sherlock’s right buttock watching the firm flesh give under his palm.  He rubbed his fingers lightly over the red mark he could already see coloring Sherlock’s pale skin through the sheer lace.  “What was that?  I believe I asked you a questions and I couldn’t quite hear your answer.”

Sherlock groaned, “Yes, John. Yes.  I want you to fuck me.  I  _ need _ you to fuck me.”

“Good boy.” John said giving Sherlock’s arse a squeeze for good measure.  “Stay exactly where you are.  Don’t move a muscle, Sherlock.  I’m going to get some supplies.”  He paused waiting for some sign that Sherlock had heard him.  “Did you hear me, Sherlock?” John asked, smacking Sherlock’s arse with the flat of his palm once more.

Sherlock hips jerked and he groaned, “Yes, John.  I won’t move.”

“Good boy.” John said and he went to the bedroom to fetch the lube.  

When he got back, Sherlock was exactly where John had left him; sprawled across the desk with his arse in the air, expanses of pale, beautiful, creamy flesh on display all for John.  “So good for me.” John murmured, watching as his words sent goosebumps skittering across Sherlock’s bare back.  “No one would ever believe how good you can be at following orders when you have the right sort of  _ incentive _ .”

John came back to Sherlock and kissed from the top of his spine down to the lace of Sherlock’s panties.  Sherlock groaned and his hips thrust in seek of friction.  “Be still.” John said, his voice soft but commanding.

Sherlock stopped moving completely, “Good boy.” John said as he ran his hand across Sherlock’s lower back.  “I decide when you come.” he nipped at Sherlock’s shoulder and both of his hands came of stroke along the panties that covered Sherlock’s arse and subsequently the stunning little pucker of flesh which would allow John to enter and possess his body.  “You are  _ mine _ and I control your pleasure.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock panted, pressing his arse back into John’s hands.  

“What did I say?” John asked, slapping Sherlock’s arse once more.

“You told me to be still.” Sherlock said through a moan.  John slapped his arse once more on the right cheek and once on the left, revelling in the way his firm flesh flexed beneath his hands.  Sherlock let out a high pitched whine, he was covered in a light sheen of sweat and had begun panting in earnest and John hadn’t even really touched him yet.  This was going to be delicious.

“That’s right.” John said.  Then, without any sort of warning, he tore the lace of the panties with an obscenely loud ripping sound and stood back to admire the wanton display of Sherlock’s body.  He stood with his legs spread as far apart as he could manage, his balls drawn up tight to his body, with his cock hanging heavy between his thighs, the foreskin fully drawn back to expose his glans already glistening with precome.

Then there was the rosy pucker of flesh at the very apex of Sherlock’s body.  John pressed the heel of his hand into his own cock to relieve some of the unbearable pressure at seeing Sherlock this way, seeing him so open and exposed for him.  Only for him.  John reached out and ran his index finger lightly across Sherlock’s hole.

“Ahhh.” Sherlock groaned and John felt his hips stuttering as he fought to control his body.  “Yes, John.  Fuck.”

“Do you like this?” John asked, rubbing his finger a little more firmly around Sherlock’s hole, watching him shudder, “Because I do.  Fuck, Sherlock.”  He leaned forward and  sucked another bruise into Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Please!” Sherlock cried out as John sucked harder and pressed against his hole more firmly but not quite firmly enough to breech him.  “Please fuck me, John.” Sherlock whimpered.

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” John said as he reached for the lube and rubbed some into his fingers.  He spread Sherlock's buttocks wide with his right index finger and thumb.  Admiring Sherlock's pretty pucker and enjoying the way Sherlock gasped and fought against bucking his hips.  With his left forefinger he spread lube around Sherlock’s hole, rubbing it, relaxing it.  “Mmmmh.” John groaned as he slipped just the very tip of his finger in.  “Yes.  I love stretching out this pretty little hole of yours.”  He stood back slightly so he could admire his work.  “So tight.” he commented as he pulled his finger back out again, much to Sherlock’s displeasure.  He rubbed the muscles around his hole slowly almost teasingly, “Just look at you Sherlock, so desperate for me to fill you.  So desperate to stretch yourself out around my fingers, around my cock.”

“Yes, John!” Sherlock groaned as John pushed his forefinger in up to his knuckle.  He didn’t move once his finger was inside of Sherlock and Sherlock whimpered and his hips rocked back minutely, against his will.  There was a part of John that absolutely loved having Sherlock at his mercy this way, completely gagging for his cock.   He began rocking his finger in and out of Sherlock’s body, watching as his finger disappeared over and over. 

“Are you ready for two fingers?” John asked as he pulled out.  Sherlock nodded frantically and John spread lube on his index and middle finger.  He brought them back between Sherlock's buttocks still spread wide by the fingers of his right hand and pressed against Sherlock’s hole; he held them there but didn’t press in.  “Are you ready for two fingers?” he growled.

“Yes!” Sherlock nearly sobbed, “Please John, put your fingers in me, stretch me, fuck me.”

“Good boy.” John said, as he pressed his fingers inside of the tight heat of Sherlock’s body.  “Ahhh.” John groaned as Sherlock’s hole tensed and relaxed around his fingers, “That’s it, love.  Do you like that?" he thrust his fingers in and out of his lover's body, "I love the way you feel wrapped around my fingers, the way that stunning little hole positively clings to me and draws me in over and over.” Sherlock keened, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk had turned white from how tightly he was clinging to it.  

He scissored his fingers in Sherlock’s arse, stretching and making room for himself.  “I love how tight you are.  I’m going to stuff my cock in you, you know.  Right into this unbelievably tight body.” 

He pulled his fingers out and added a bit more lube before pushing three fingers back inside.  “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Sherlock.  So hard that tomorrow you’ll have trouble walking and  _ everyone _ at the Yard will know I fucked you, even Andersen will be able to figure it out.  I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to paint your insides with my come, I’m going to fucking  _ claim _ you, Sherlock.”  John had studiously been avoiding Sherlock’s prostate up until this moment but now he pressed into it to articulate each of the next words out of his mouth, “Because. You. Are. Mine.”

“Yes, John, I’m yours.  Please” Sherlock begged, his hips juddering back to fuck themselves on John’s fingers.  John drew his fingers out and Sherlock sobbed, “Don’t stop.  Please John, _please_.”

“Shhh.” John soothed as he stepped out of his trousers and pants and pulled his shirt off over his head.  He slicked his cock up and pressed the head against Sherlock’s entrance, rubbing his glans in a circle around Sherlock’s hole feeling it clench and unclench against him as though he was trying to draw him in.  

He rubbed the head of his cock up and down the crevice between Sherlock’s buttocks, adding just a bit of pressure when the head of his cock rubbed against Sherlock’s hole but not enough to delve inside.  “Is this what you want?  Do you want my hard, thick cock inside of your tight, little hole?  Do you want me to press inside of you and stretch you until you feel so full you could burst?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock replied breathlessly, “Please.   _Please_.  I’ll do anything.”

John covered Sherlock’s body with his and slid his fingers through Sherlock’s, pinning them over his head before sliding the head of his cock into Sherlock.  “Mmmmh.  That’s it, love.” John murmured encouragingly.  “You take me so well.  You’re fantastic.” he said as he rocked his hips out before pressing the head in again, slowly, torturing them both.

“Please.” Sherlock begged once more and John sunk all the way into his hole until his bollocks brushed against Sherlock’s and his hips were pressed firmly into Sherlock’s arse.

He rocked back and forth a few times before he pulled out almost all the way and snapped his hips forward again.  Sherlock cried out, “Yes!” and John snapped his hips again, angling downward as he did so his cock brushed against Sherlock’s prostate.  Sherlock wailed, “Do that again.  Please, John!” he begged desperately.

John continued to snap his hips, pressing against Sherlock’s prostate on every pass.  “You’re going to come without being touched, do you understand me, Sherlock?” John breathed in his ear.

“Yes.” Sherlock moaned.  
  
“And you’re going to come when I say and not a moment before.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock answered.

“Good boy.” John said and he set off at a quicker pace, fucking into that perfect little hole with abandon.  He could feel Sherlock’s hole clenching and unclenching around him and he knew Sherlock must be fighting off his orgasm with his whole being.  “You must be positively dripping right now.  I bet if I reached my hand down to stroke your cock I wouldn’t even need any lube because of how wet you would already be.”  Sherlock choked on a moan and his forehead fell forward to hit the desk with a thunk.

“I can feel that perfect little hole of yours clenching around my dick, desperately trying to milk me, trying to pull me in and drain all of my come into your body.  Fuck Sherlock, you’re perfect.” John groaned.  “Are you ready to come for me?”

“Yes!” Sherlock gasped out, “Please.”

John thrust a few more times, grinding his cock against Sherlock’s prostate before saying, “Come, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shuddered violently under John and his hole clenched down like a vice around John’s cock, “Please!” Sherlock wailed, “Come inside me, please!”

John groaned and did just that, thrusting once, twice, thrice more before coming so hard his vision went black.  John flopped over on Sherlock’s back and just laid there panting for a moment.

When he got his wits about him he pulled out of Sherlock and moved to the kitchen to fetch a flannel.  Sherlock was near catatonic when John walked back over so John bent down and wiped up Sherlock’s legs, thighs, and stomach to clean Sherlock’s come off before moving back to inspect Sherlock’s hole once more.

His entrance was red and puffy but otherwise looked completely fine.  John ran his fingers over it lightly and felt his cock give a twitch, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s puckered flesh.  

Sherlock groaned, “John Watson you are positively filthy.”

“Mmmmh.” John agreed, as he pulled Sherlock into a standing position and pressed a kiss to his lips.  “But you love me.”

Sherlock sighed, “That I do.”

John kissed him again, “Alright?” he asked.

Sherlock grinned at him like the cat who’d gotten the cream, “Sooo much better than alright, John.”

“You’re high on endorphins.” John observed with a giggle.

“Yep.” Sherlock said popping his “p” as he said it.  

John gave Sherlock a tug, “Come on, let’s go to bed.  I think I need to sleep until about noon tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir.” Sherlock said with a sly grin.

John looked back at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You really get off on me ordering you about don’t you?”

“I really do.” Sherlock said as they climbed into bed and Sherlock pillowed his head on John’s chest, clearly looking for John to run his fingers through his hair (which John did, of course.)

“Sorry, I ruined your panties, by the way.” John murmured through a yawn.

“Worth it.” Sherlock replied before they both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that's the end of this one! I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Blessings!


End file.
